


If you think I'm losing you, you must be crazy

by hopefor46



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Boundary Realization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Time, Multi, Sharing a Bed, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor46/pseuds/hopefor46
Summary: This is a work of fiction set in late September, 2017.





	If you think I'm losing you, you must be crazy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenopsia (indie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/gifts).



> This is a work of fiction set in late September, 2017.

_1\. Jon, today_

 

Jon reluctantly pulls himself out of sleep first on Sunday morning, ruing that extra drink last night. Jon loves to sleep in but once he’s up, he’s up, even when he yields to Ronan’s good advice (like last night) and leaves his phone out of reach of his bedside.

The floor of the house is creaky and cold, the view of the sea outside like a watercolor. He must have been here at some point—Tommy must have invited him. But in the light of today it all looks new.

Automatically, without thinking, he wanders back into the bedroom and stands at the foot of the bed. It’s still occupied: there’s Ronan’s head slipped down till he’s barely visible, and Tommy curled around him. Two blonds in their own dream worlds.

 _A matched pair_ , he thinks suddenly. New Englanders by upbringing. Neat to a fault. Scary smart. Surprisingly wry. It was crazy that he never saw it before.

And even though he’s the one who has brought them together, in this moment, Jon feels a little cold over it. What’s going to happen, later? He knows he did the right thing, but where does that leave him?

The dull buzzing in his head suggests now is too perilous a time for these thoughts. He’s just made up his mind to go rescue his phone, seek solace elsewhere in the house, when Tommy’s eyes flicker open. Jon must be wincing based on the look on his face, only he’s not at all sure, but Tommy’s eyes grow wide.

 “Jon,” Tommy whispers. “Come back to bed.” He looks over at the empty pillow tilting his head like a dog. For once, Jon doesn’t know what to say, but he has to look away. It feels too tender, too close to the surface for all of this. When he can finally look at Tommy, he’s already extricating himself from the bedsheets with a grace not normally granted to people over six feet. As he comes around the bed, Jon sneaks a glimpse at Ronan—still not stirring.

Carefully, Tommy sits on the edge of the bed, long legs dangling, so he’s even closer to Jon’s eye level. Concern coats his face. Jon looks at the floor. He shouldn’t feel bad. This was all his fault. But what if—

Tommy tugs him in by a wrist, lifts his chin up gently. The first touch of their lips is nothing and the second seems to last forever. Tommy’s groaning a little under his breath, like he can’t help it, and pulling Jon in like he can’t stand to be further apart, an arm around his waist, another one ruffling through his hair at the back of his neck. Jon is… Swooning? Is that the word for it? It feels so right all of a sudden for them to be here in the watery morning light, kissing good morning.

Tommy pulls away with a gasp and turns over his shoulder. Incredibly, Ronan is still. He smiles at Jon like: can you believe this is happening?

No, Jon never believed he was going to be here again. But—

“Wait,” he whispers. “For Ronan.”

 

_2\. Ronan, the Wednesday before_

 

At first he thought it was just his imagination. Due to the accident of his birth, it wasn’t unlikely that he sometimes caught people’s eye, would see an errant point or a wave that he wasn’t exactly supposed to. People who would never admit to watching him on cable news or following him on Instagram would try to “subtly” alert their friends. An annoying part of having been born to the parents he was born with, which he couldn’t exactly _complain_ about, just learn to live with.

But this was different. Suddenly his phones started giving him trouble, weird bursts of static or clicks where the connection should’ve been clear. E-mails arrived with details that seemed too good to be true, their correspondents dropping off after a few exchanges more pointed than polite. A few times he’d bumped into a man in a black baseball cap in his neighborhood—was it the same man? Ronan wasn’t sure.

He should’ve known better. He’d been working on the scoop for years and the man he was reporting on was known to be vengeful. Ronan had sat and pushed tissues and held hands with victims who’d wept describing how the man made their lives a nightmare, forced them to move, to turn down jobs, to break off with friends they suspected as having less than pure motives. 

He just never thought it would happen to _him_.

But, apparently, Jon had.

They had been discussing a particularly bracing interview a few months earlier when Jon had suddenly stopped and said: “Listen. If you ever get in a jam like that I want you to stop and ask me about Paris, okay?”

Ronan sputtered. “I don’t follow.”

“I’ll take care of the rest for you. Just say we have to talk about Paris.”

“Wanting to indulge in some spycraft, are we?”

“Ro… let me do this.” (Paris, of course, was where they’d first said _I love you_ , but no one else knew about that.)

He hadn’t invoked it before, but if there was one thing Ronan knew about Jon, all the way down in his core, he knew Jon didn’t make promises lightly.

He opened up Signal and texted: 

> We need to talk about Paris

The response was almost immediate: 

> For real?
> 
> Yes, Paris
> 
> Stand by for safe call locn <3

Jon directed him to a shabby West 80th Street brownstone that turned out to hold Ben’s parents, who already knew he was coming and met him at the door with a glass of water. Ensconced in their study, Ronan pulled out his phone and, feeling a little shaky, input Jon’s number into the ancient telephone receiver.

“Tell me what’s happening.”

“I think I’m being surveilled.”

“Jesus.”

Ronan described what he’d noticed, especially in and around his apartment building. Jon never jumped in, just made soft listening noises and let him stop when he needed to. God, he loved him so much. 

“Anyway, I think I need to get out of town for a few days, but I don’t know where to go. If they’re really following me—”

“Then the usual isn’t going to work.” They both knew Jon meant Mia’s house, Ronan’s most familiar, comfortable place.

“And I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.” Ronan stopped for a second and ran his fingers through his hair. “I could just go to, like, a hotel I guess.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge that Jon’s probably wasn’t safe either, since they’d been linked in the press.

Jon puffed in frustration. “I wish I could go with you. I have two shows this Friday so we could make it to the thing next weekend.”

“Have to see about the thing.” ‘The thing’ being Ronan’s sister’s wedding, which at this rate he hoped he wouldn’t have to skip out of concern for his presence.

Jon was quiet for a moment, which Ronan knew meant he was thinking hard.

“Okay, I got it. What about Tommy’s mom’s house?” 

“In Virginia?”

“No, the Cape one.”

“Huh.”

“It’s not obvious. You can order groceries and stuff so you don’t have to be out and about. And it’s the off-season there, so no one’s gonna bother you. Those WASPs all tolerate strangers as long as they stay out of their way.”

“Won’t I get caught traveling on the way there though?” Ronan can practically hear Jon smiling through the phone.

“You just leave that to me, smart guy.”

They determine that Ronan will leave tomorrow and Jon will fly out after his shows. Ronan is packing when his Signal starts buzzing again.

> Want me to send Tommy to check on you?

No one’s looking at Ronan but he blushes anyway, which makes him feel doubly stupid. Jon writes again before he can respond:

> Have to ask him anyway for the house
> 
> He won’t bother you
> 
> Unless you want him to ;)

Ronan regrets the day he told Jon what he thought of Tommy, when they’d been dating only a few weeks. He knew there was no way Jon would be jealous, but it was even more the opposite: Jon threw his head back and laughed. Sat straight up in bed only to be able to laugh louder and longer.

“Something you should know,” he said to Ronan. “I have.”

“You what?” Ronan was shocked. He’d just met Tommy’s new girlfriend from Transportation, a petite brunette with a winning smile. (She did look a little like Jon, if Jon were a woman. Ronan decided not to point that out.)

Jon told him about how he and Tommy had… fallen into something over the months they’d lived together. The concatenation of late nights and stress and pent-up desire and other ingredients Ronan didn’t understand. 

“He’s like you, he’s a physical guy,” Jon shrugged, as if that explained anything.

“But there wasn’t anything more?”

Jon considered. “Dunno. For me, I was happy to keep it where it was then. We were both so drained, I couldn’t imagine getting into something serious.”

“Plus if you bring it up…”

“Yeah. Acknowledging it, dragging the elephant into the room, we would’ve had to decide something. So we just didn’t. And then he started dating that girl, and I was like, well, I’m moving anyway.” Jon kissed his nose, his forehead. “Then I met you, and wanted to be with you.”

Ronan wasn’t jealous. He _wasn’t_. He just wanted to know the completely unknowable: how Tommy had this and let it go.

“I remember it pretty well. It sure was convenient,” Jon said with a giggle. “But it wasn’t supposed to be more than it was. I totally get it though! If there was some kind of Shakespearean mixup today where one of us was wrapped in a curtain and the other one was under a spell… don’t think I wouldn’t again!”

“You’re full of nonsense,” Ronan replied, but he felt relieved and, if he had to consider it, a little turned on by the image. It was too bad Tommy’s sense of duty towards the company would probably never let him realize this picture today, even if he and Jon had been close like that in the past. 

Then again, it was Tommy’s sense of duty to which they were appealing here.

He makes the decision to write back:

             OK if you do

He kept checking, but Signal fell silent after that.

 

_3\. Tommy, Wednesday_

 

Tommy’s standing at the window of his hotel room, looking out over Dupont Circle, when his phone starts buzzing. It’s Jon. Of course it is.

“Lovett, I’m asleep.”

“You are _not_ ,” Jon says. “I have two really big favors to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“You remember when I told you about the thing with Ronan? About his safety?” Instantly Tommy remembers: the cold concrete under his thighs as they sat by the pool, the way Lovett lowered his eyes and studied his beer as he spoke. The warmth in his voice when he mentioned Ronan. The way he clapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder after, jocular but practiced, a period at the end of a long and fraught sentence.

“He needs a place to stay for a bit. For some reason, I was thinking of your mom’s in Massachusetts. Do you think she would mind if…”

“No, absolutely not,” Tommy cuts in. Of course he hasn’t actually asked, but the Vietor family open-door policy has always held for any of the guys. Jon had even stayed there once, although he probably didn’t remember.

“Like, tomorrow?”

“No problem,” Tommy thinks, then considers. The house was basically empty most of the winter; they could send someone over to turn the heat up. “I’d just have to make some calls tomorrow.”

“Good ‘cause I was already going to send him there.” Jon’s laugh is dry.

Tommy thinks of Ronan, notorious for reasons that have nothing to do with his own behavior, attracting attention he doesn’t want wherever he goes. Tries to imagine what that would be like growing up. It was hard enough for Tommy to be dropped into the occasional Playbook or DC gossip blog, back when he was more caught up in those things.

Tommy suddenly feels the need to protect Ronan from all of that, which he can’t possibly do, which isn’t even his place, but—

“I could even meet him up there,” he coughs out. “Like. If he doesn’t want to be alone.”

“Actually, that would be great.”

“We’re wrapping up in DC tomorrow anyway.” He and Brian and Favs have been making the rounds of Congressional offices, making contacts, trying to set up future interviews. Jon had exempted himself with a wink, saying he didn’t want to jeopardize the future of Crooked by making the wrong joke.

Tommy was missing him more than he could bring himself to admit.

“Yeah, I’ll be there Friday.” He might get as much out of it as Ronan would. He always liked the Cape—they’d been going there since he was young, before his parents split, before he’d even left Massachusetts. Tommy sweeps the desk looking for the little notepad so he can write down what they need. Turn the heat on—order groceries—let the caretaker know…

“Here’s the thing,” Jon says, and pauses. Tommy’s familiar with his phrasing; it means that Jon’s about to tell him something really important, but he can’t be coaxed.

“There are some, uh, specific things that make him feel better.”

“Warm milk and brandy?” The timbre of Jon’s sigh tells Tommy he’s not supposed to be joking.

“No, it’s, like… he’s really, like, a physical comfort guy. So if you could… you know what, forget it.”

Tommy feels elated, and then disgusted, and surprised.

“No, I can help.”

“The thing is,” Jon says, sounding pinched and distant, “I wouldn’t ask you if I could physically be there. But I can’t until Saturday. So.”

“Okay,” Tommy says gently. So should I… um…”

“Just do whatever he wants,” Jon says. And then, softer: “Please? It’s killing me that I can’t be there with him.”

Tommy immediately thinks the phrase _In boyfriend parentis?_ and curses his brain for coming up with the worst possible jokes at the least opportune times.

“I’ll keep him safe for you,” is what he lands on instead.

“Tommy, you’re my favorite cohost.”

Tommy’s still grinning when he hangs up the phone. He looks down at the half-filled hotel notepad.

It’s not a real invitation. But it is an invitation to be needed. Tommy likes to be needed. Even if it’s—well—in a platonic way.

He knew Jon and Ronan were open, or at least had been in the past. But if they were interested in him, surely he’d have picked up on it by now. It’s not like Jon was shy. Not usually, anyway.

But if doing this favor for Jon is what he required, Tommy would be more than happy to oblige.

 

_4\. Ronan, Thursday_

 

Jon had told him to look for a driver, but the only one in the arrivals area at the Providence train station is carrying a sign that reads “Mr. Link.” It takes Ronan a minute to get the joke. He thinks about explaining it to the driver, but decides not to bother.

Ronan woke up this morning with a full itinerary in his inbox and the link to a mobile Amtrak ticket through Signal. Officially, Mr. Ronan Farrow is off to Paris (again, Ronan smiles, Jon showing off), booking elaborate amounts of travel through his own credit card. Ronan wouldn’t put it past Jon to hire a lookalike. Well, maybe not, but Jon would definitely suggest it with a laugh. Mr. Farrow is off to the Georges V, a hotel Ronan has definitely stayed in at some point.

But Ronan himself is not following through, and by the time whoever’s trying to keep up with him has tracked him to Paris, he’ll be safely ensconced in... Massachusetts somewhere. He has to check the Signal again, but Jon told him to put his phone on airplane mode until he gets there. Just in case.

He realizes Jon knew all along that Ronan was going to need him at this particular moment. Knows him better than Ronan knows himself sometimes. Who knows how long Jon had this plan on file. Even sending Tommy—

The Vietor house resolves itself into a gray clapboard at the end of a little drive, overlooking the ocean. Late September, but there’s a chilly breeze as Ronan gets out of the car and tips the driver. (Jon reminded him to tip extra well in cash.) He waits till the driver leaves before he sinks his fingers into the loamy topsoil of the plant by the front door. Extracts the key and lets himself in.

The house is cold but clean-smelling, with a window open facing the sea. Jon said Tommy would “make a few calls” to make sure it was ready for him, so Ronan isn’t surprised as he walks through to see a pound of coffee leaned up against the sink, sheets on the beds. He walks all the way through to the biggest bedroom, at the back, large enough for a king-size bed and a desk. Sets his things down. He’s exhausted all of a sudden, enveloped by the safety of the unknown.

 

_5\. Tommy, Friday_

 

Ronan knocks on his door around 10, when Tommy’s sitting up in bed reading for next week’s Pod Save the World. In his sweats, without his glasses, Ronan looks even younger than usual.

“How’s the room?” Tommy blurts out.

“Could you… um… sorry, this is _so awkward_.”

Tommy tries to make his face look as encouraging as possible.

“Would you stay with me? For tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” Tommy hurriedly sweeps the room: book, phone, charger, the earplugs he rarely uses but likes to have on hand.

He’d barely unpacked when he got in in the afternoon, grabbing an Uber from the commuter rail. Ronan must have heard the key turning in the lock and met him at the door, so they sat around for a few hours in the living room, watching the sunlight track across the wall till it disappeared. They didn’t talk about what Ronan was writing; mostly they talked about the Crooked talks, the progress of the company. Tommy knew whatever he told Ronan would stay between them—between _all_ of them, he corrected himself, thinking of Jon. Surely there were no secrets between those two.

Then Tommy was going to suggest they order in but Ronan mentioned he was planning to make some pasta, did that sound good? It sounded better than good. Better than when Tommy was fending for himself at home.

He’d been scanning his email and checking his Twitter mentions, but Tommy hadn’t gotten much _done_ in hours—and if he had to admit, it had been strangely soothing, like floating in a warm tub. That was what Massachusetts always did to him; it took him back to a time when things were just less urgent. 

Tommy waits at the doorway to Ronan’s room and watches him get into bed on one side, then carefully lifts up the duvet and gets in on the other. It’s been a while since he’s shared a bed with someone; his last girlfriend in San Francisco had had a dog, so she rarely stayed over for fear of leaving him. Tommy doesn’t know why he brought his book over, but he always reads before he goes to sleep. It would feel weird not to. So he just sits up. Ronan’s on his side in bed, his face half hidden, but he’s blinking. He’s definitely awake.

Tommy doesn’t turn the light off.

“I owe you, Tom,” Ronan says like he just got Tommy to pick him up a latte or something.

“Jon said you might ask,” he says before Tommy thinks it might be betraying Jon’s confidence to report back. Well, it’s out now.

Ronan smiles into the pillow. “He knows me,” he says.

“So…” Tommy has no idea where this is going. “If he were here… what would he do? To make you feel better?” Ronan’s eye blinks open, wide. He turns towards Tommy so his whole face is visible.

“What?”

“—I want to help.”

“You’re really comforting just being there. That’s really enough.”

“Please?” Tommy can feel himself turning red, hopes the lamp doesn’t pick it up.

Ronan opens his sweet little bow of a mouth and closes it again.

“Scoot over,” he says. When Tommy does, taking his pillow with him, Ronan arranges himself with his head on Tommy’s chest, puts Tommy’s other arm over him. Like Tommy’s just a pile of pillows, a prop. Tommy _likes it._

It’s so quiet in here. Tommy can feel Ronan’s breath through his shirt. He smells like the lavender soap Tommy’s mom keeps in the bathroom and he’s small. _Smaller than Jon_ , he thinks guiltily. As if Jon would ever have let him hold him this close.

“You’re quite warm, actually,” Ronan mumbles. Tommy can’t help it, he starts laughing, and he feels Ronan start to crack up too.

“Not to—um,” Tommy unable to resist popping the bubble, whatever sweet moment they’re in, “does Jon really do this?”

Ronan blinks up at him. “‘Course.” Then he starts to blush, and Tommy sees it roll over his cheeks in amazement. “Did he ev—yes, he does.”

Jon _did_ tell him after all. And _Ronan_ ’s the one embarrassed? Tommy feels his own cheeks burning.

“Didn’t have that kind of Lovett experience,” he says.

“But you would.” He’s so far out on a limb that all Tommy can say to Ronan is the truth.

“I would.” Tommy takes a long breath, and lets it out. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Is _this_ okay?” Tommy nods. “If we stayed like this?” He nods again. Tommy feels the urge to run his hand over Ronan’s back, so he readjusts so he can do that. “How about that?”

“Mmmm,” Ronan says into his chest.

Tommy tries to stay as still as possible. His thoughts are racing and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever sleep, but his eyelids are heavy and it falls over him all at once like a cloud.

 

_6\. Jon, yesterday_

 

The key’s in the planter, the sky is striped the same bold blue as every New England fall, but as Jon pushes through the door at Tommy’s mom’s place he has no idea what he’s going to find.

What he finds is Ronan and Tommy sitting on the back porch in Adirondack chairs, Ronan scratching into a notebook, Tommy reading, looking for all the world like a—

“Jonathan!” Ronan turns his face up, practically glowing. Jon feels momentarily happy, and then, strangely, crushed.

He always wanted to give Ronan what he needed, true. At first he’d put “Paris” out there as a joke, but he wasn’t scared when Ronan asked him in earnest. Maybe this wouldn’t protect Ronan’s scoop or keep the fact-checkers away or long-term delay his enemies, but at least it would help him get over this particular obstacle, so they could face the others together.

Ronan already looks relaxed and happy— _without him_ , the darker corner of his brain said—but when he pops up to greet Jon, he buries his face in his neck with a purposefulness that said: _I need you._ Alarmingly for a 36-year-old, Jon feels himself getting turned on.

And not a little because he can see Tommy over Ronan’s shoulder, watching them intently.

Well, isn’t that interesting.

“Hey, hey, what a welcoming committee,” Jon jokes as Ronan steps back, trying to cool the situation. He looks for a place to sit, but there are only 2 chairs. “Looks like you two are all set out here, so—”

“I was about to start dinner,” Tommy says, jumping up, “so I’ll be back in a minute with the steaks.”

“Tommy’s been cooking for me,” Ronan says smugly.

“Is it all Blue Apron though?”

“I can _make things_ ,” Tommy says, as he pushes through the door to the house.

Between one thing and another, he forgets to tease Ronan about what Tommy has been doing to him, exactly, to get him so relaxed, and then Tommy’s back with the steaks and Ronan goes to get some wine and… it’s surprisingly comfortable. The three of them.

Maybe nothing even happened, Jon reasons to himself, and there’s nothing to think about. But what if they kissed, he thinks while looking at himself in the mirror as his Quip cycles through the four phases. What if Tommy ran a hand through Ronan’s hair… bent his blond head over his body… Is it wrong to fantasize about your boyfriend with someone else? Even if he’s in the next room?

Then Jon gets into bed and notices something interesting—a pile of things draped haphazardly over his nightstand.

“Ro, are we taking up both nightstands now, is that what’s happening?” Instead of answering, Ronan starts to blush, and someone knocks on the door.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my—”

Jon vaults out of bed to fling the door open and look at Tommy. He looks properly chagrined, but looks Jon in the eye.

“Tommy. _Did you_ sleep in here last night?”

“I—”

“Yes, he did,” Ronan says from behind him.

Jon tilts his head, absorbing. “So what happened?”

“I forgot my charger, and…”

“Tommy, not that part. I mean when you slept! Did you mess around?”

“ _Jonathan_.” Ronan sounds so uncomfortable that Jon turns back to look at him.

“Do you want us to show you?”

“Show me?”

“If it’s what you wanted.” Tommy’s smiling now, looking like he’s about to play a trick.

“Okay,” Jon says. He watches Tommy skirt along the bed and come to the other side, sits down on the edge of the mattress. Ronan obediently scoots over, and once in, Tommy presses Ronan to his chest with one big arm. It looks suffocating, but Jon knows Ronan likes it.

“Pretty good,” Jon says, unsteady. “B+ for effort.”

“What am I missing?”

“You grade-grubber.” Jon can hear Ronan laughing all muffled.

“Tell me. I want to know.” Then Tommy gives him a look that Jon hasn’t seen in years—the look he used to give him across the bar to let him know they were going to go home and mess around. Nowadays Tommy looks at Jon with all shades of fondness besides this one.

Except now.

“Ohh—kay,” Jon says. “Rub his back a little. Just, real gentle, light touches.” Tommy follows suit. “Now if you feel, lean down and kiss his forehead.” Jon feels wired and weird with this power, like all the rules have been suspended.

“Is this what you’re into now?” Tommy raises his eyebrows as if to say: Now? “And wait, how did all your stuff end up on the other side?”

Tommy holds his gaze steadily as he says, “Because I know you don’t like to be in the middle.”

“THOMAS!”

“If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’.” Ronan snorts into his chest. Jon is at a loss.

“Do you…”

“Want to stay with us tonight?” Ronan’s unwound himself briefly to make himself heard more clearly. “Have Jonathan tell you a few more things to do?” Jon has a sudden stroke of inspiration, which turns him on, which must show all over his face. And pants. If Tommy should say no at this point, it’ll be hard to face him over the mic on Monday.

But Tommy smiles. “Yes. Tell me what else to do.”   

“Kiss him.”

“You already did that one.”

“Roll him over and kiss him.” Tommy goes obediently, holding himself up over Ronan so he doesn’t hurt him. Ronan reaches up to touch. “Okay, but also take your shirt off.”

“Fine, you monster,” Tommy breaks the kiss to say. Jon’s never watched Ronan with someone else, but it’s really doing it for him. Really, really.

“Okay, stop.” Jon immediately starts laughing. “I should really have used a different phrase, professionally speaking. But Ronan—you trust me on this one?” Ronan nods eagerly, his lips pinker and fuller from kissing. From kissing _Tommy_. Nothing in this room seems real.

“I have an idea.” Tommy’s looking at him also, bleary eyed and pink lipped, the dual beams of their attention making Jon dizzy. “It would involve me getting, heh, involved. Any objections?”

Tommy mumbles something.

“Tommy, make your objection heard, please.”

“Can we do that thing I like.” A bolt of lightning goes down Jon’s spine. It was their code, from the dark bars, from DC.

“Tommy. God. Of course.”

“And you’ll—tell us what to do.”

“The whole entire time, Tommy.” Ronan looks up at him dreamily.

Jon pulls Ronan way over into the corner of the mattress, diagonally sprawled out, but stops to kiss him messily, needily, because how can he not, Ronan’s perfect. Then he lets Tommy take his place over him again, pulling off his shirt, wending kisses over his shoulders, down his chest. Jon makes quick work of the rest of Ronan’s clothes, and watches.

When Tommy’s been meandering enough he makes him stand at the foot of the bed and undresses him. If anything, he looks better than their junk food and fourteen-hour-days phrase. Jon sneaks a glance at Ronan to see him watching avidly from the end of the bed.

Tommy finds Ronan’s cock, at painful attention, and starts pulling on it slowly. Ronan gasps and shifts on the bed, already partly overcome.

“Easy on him,” Jon reminds Tommy. “More on that front to start.” He positions Tommy on his hands and knees over Ronan, kissing and rubbing his face on his cock. Tommy’s good at this, the sweet torture.

“You’re good at this,” Jon finds himself saying. “Take him in your mouth now, just for a bit. Mind my touch though.”

Jon gets up on the bed behind Tommy, grabs onto his hips. He can’t help but grind against him for a minute, looking at the view, of Ronan’s wracked face and Tommy’s bent head describing a steady rhythm.

Tommy sputters and pulls off. “Jon, _fuck.”_

“Stay there,” Jon says, and scoots back so he can lube up a finger and slide it into him slowly. Tommy’s so tight but he pushes back against Jon’s hand like it isn’t enough. Now he’s the one whimpering, kissing Ronan’s stomach, already losing it a little. Jon slips another finger in, gently, trying to make it good for him. He catches Ronan’s eye from the foot of the bed and Ronan looks at him like he just saved the planet.

“All right, now,” Jon says, distracted, his dick throbbing. “Tommy, take him in your mouth, just gently now. If you need a break, pull off, okay?” Once he’s seen it—and _what a sight_ to see, Tommy’s lips sliding all the way down—Jon lubes himself up and eases into Tommy, just a gentle rocking.

This was always Tommy’s favorite. Jon can feel under him that he’s losing it a little. He plasters himself to Tommy’s back and lets his hips lead, slow but deliberate. Jon’s learned a few things since back then, mostly from Ronan. How to have control and make it better, slower, more exquisite.

When he reaches for Tommy he can already tell that he’s close.

“That’s right,” he says, stunned by how soft his voice sounds. “That’s all right.” He’s close to the edge himself, and when he sees Ronan’s face, that’s it for Jon, he’s gone, they all are.

 

_7\. Ronan, today_

 

As if it wasn’t enough of a shock to find himself alone in bed, when Ronan finally gets up and shuffles to the kitchen, he finds Jon and Tommy at opposite sides of it, looking at each other so intensely Ronan feels like he’s interrupting. Between them the coffeemaker splutters and switches off.

“Morning,” he says, watching Jon, whose face instantly re-arranges into something soft.

“Welcome back to the living,” he says.

“Have you been up long?”

“Sure,” Jon says just as Tommy says “No,” and then they train that unreadable glance back on each other, and a hush falls between them again.

“Okay,” Ronan says. “Clearly there’s something going on here, that I have blundered into. Do you want to work this out without me?” 

“No, no,” Jon protests. “We were waiting for you.” Tommy clears his throat unnecessarily. “We, um. I kissed Tommy this morning.”

Now Ronan actually wishes he’d gotten up earlier.

“Was it good?”

“It was…” Ronan revels in the rareness of the occasion where Jon doesn’t have the words. “Well, put it this way, we wanted you to wake up before, uh, things progressed.”

“And we wouldn’t,” Tommy broke in. “Not without your permission.”

“My permission?” Ronan says. “Okay, I grant.”

“Just like that?” Tommy takes this so seriously, Ronan can tell.

“Let’s see,” Ronan says. “My boyfriend sent me off to you and told you it was okay for you and me. How could I not be this generous in return?”

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to be at a loss for words. How does he not know, Ronan thinks, what he looks like. What he means to them.

“Tommy, I TOLD you!” Jon says with a smirk. “Listen, I did not expect this, ah, particular outcome. But as long as we’re pure of heart—”

“And other things,” Ronan can’t resist putting in.

“Usually my line. But yes.” Jon reaches for him and his kiss is easy, familiar, reaching in and taking. Behind him, Ronan can feel Tommy step in close, the line of his body; can feel the hot breath before Tommy’s lips connect with his neck. He hears himself sigh loud and sudden.

Jon laughs. “Look at my handsome boys,” he jokes, breathless, before connecting his mouth to Ronan’s again, grabbing him by the hips, pressing him closer to Tommy. They stay in the kitchen like that, fastened together, for a long, long time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Arcade Fire/ Put Your Money On Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHC6I7v-1Pc).


End file.
